


Significant Risks

by j_gabrielle



Series: Significant Risks [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Mpreg, Warning: mentions of abortion, but they are merely thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“Have you ever been tested as a Carrier?” She asked quietly.</i> </p><p>  <i>A cold feeling of dread seeped into his bones. “Why are you asking?”</i></p><p> <br/><i>"You’re pregnant.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What will you do with the bun in the oven

At first, he thought that he was having a mild case of stomach flu. God knows he’d spent half his childhood sick and indoors. As such, the thought that he was ill did not warrant any other emotion other than a sigh of resignation as he trudged to the medical bay of MI6.

What he didn’t expect was for Dr. Guthra to still be running tests sixty minutes and twenty seconds in. “Can you tell me what is wrong with me?” He asked when the doctor’s lips thinned to a tight line.

Dr. Gunthra was new. Fresh off her residency at Queen’s Heart when they recruited her. Something about the way she’d handled 009 when he’d shown up with three bruised ribs and a dislocated shoulder, and refusing to fall into his boyish charms had gotten her a fast track into the mandatory basic MI6 employee training. Apparently, these days, if you’re able to handle an agent of the double-oh section, it’s your golden ticket into the grand society of espionage.

“Have you ever been tested as a Carrier?” She asked quietly, turning away to fuss at her equipments, and letting him dress.

“I took the test.” This was true, in a way. He had taken the test, but he hadn’t stuck around long enough for the results and by the time he was 18, the thought of being retested never occurred to him. A cold feeling of dread seeped into his bones. “Why are you asking?”

Dr. Gunthra motioned him to sit at the chair in front of her desk. She looks so tired, even though Q is sure he isn’t looking any better himself. She studies him with a careful eye, tucking a strand of stray hair behind her ear before she begins. “Congratulations Q. You’re pregnant.” Sensing that he was about to interrupt, she stalls him. “I’ve spent the better part of the last hour running every test I know, and tests that have yet to clear the Health Ministry, so yes. You’re pregnant. With child. A veritable bun in the oven. Now, what are you going to do about it?”

Q placed a hand on his lower abdomen, feeling the heat that radiated from under his cardigan. Pregnant. There was a tendril of unexpected happiness amongst the wave of fear that he was feeling. He looked up and caught Dr. Gunthra staring at his hand. “How far along am I?” He asked, unable to think over the clamour in his head.

“I’d say about three weeks.”

They sit, silent in the room save for the bustle of MI6 life flowing outside the medical bay walls and the humming sound of the machines in the bay. Q keeps his hand where it is, staring at the Japanese peace lily on Gunthra’s desk. She sighs, taking off her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. He hears her slide open a draw and slide two pamphlets across the desk.

“I assume you would like to keep this confidential. I can give you two weeks to settle your affairs--”

“I don’t want it.”

“Don’t you want to think about this first? Weigh your options?”

Q looks into her eyes for the first time since he is told the news. “What is there to think about?” He sees the doctor flinch at the cold, emotionless tone. “This is MI6. We don’t actually have a day-care centre in the lobby and our life expectancy rate rarely exceeds our 60s. Not exactly a conducive environment to be planning a family in.” He smiles, empty and hollow.

“You’d be surprise.” Is the doctor’s only answer as she smiles, “Take the pamphlets, take the day off, and I’ll send a memo to M. I can withhold your records from him for two weeks.” Pausing, “You have a reason for not wanting that child in you, and I do not need to know it. But you should think about it first. In two weeks, if your stance is still the same as it is today, I’ll respect it.”

Q doesn’t hesitate; he grabs the pamphlets on the table and leaves with as much grace as he could without his knees buckling under him. He avoids the lab, knowing that his underlings, as well meaning as they were, would only read too much into everything he says and he isn’t actually up to seeing anyone at all.

He is in the tube when he realises that he’s left his coat in the office, that he could’ve asked someone to drive him home, that it would’ve been better than riding the tube. But this is good. Even back in his student days, he’d found riding the tube to be something of a relaxation method. For a moment, he considers everything he has ever read about male pregnancies and Carriers and the children born.

 _Significant risk presented_ … _Higher risk pregnancies_ … _Miscarriages 18% higher in males over the age of 25_ … _Chances of pregnancy coming to term 36%_... _Chances of complications developing in Carriers 76%_...

Leaning back against the smudge window pane, he lets the fluorescent lights wash over him. He throws a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that the car he was in was not as crowded as it could have been. Q felt slightly sick just sitting there. So much for relaxation.

“Here.” He opens his eyes to see a packet of preserved fruits held out to him. The girl who was holding it to him was smiling in an apologetic sort of way. “You look like you’re about to projectile vomit some pea soup and I’d rather not have to deal with your breakfast on my shoes, thanks.”

Q attempts a smile and takes a slice of dried mango, thanking her.

“I’m sorry,” She starts, “But from the way you’re cradling your abdomen, you’re a Carrier? And you just got the news that you’ve got a bun in the oven?” She smiles shyly, laughing. “I’m sorry. My dads always told me I’m too nosy for my own good.”

“It’s alright.” Q says, picking out a dried piece of guava. “I’m… Three weeks along.” He says, the sudden enormity of his situation suddenly sinking into his bones. “Before this… Before everything, I didn’t know I was a Carrier.”

He catches a wince on the girls’ pretty features. She has short dirty blonde hair and wide dark blue eyes. ‘Just like a certain agent…’ His mind unhelpfully supplies. Q frowned, feeling sick all over again.

“My father didn’t know he was a Carrier until he had me.” She says softly. “It was a right shock when they went to the doctor’s and came out with the news that they’d be expecting me in 9 months. They… were advised by everyone they knew to terminate the pregnancy. Even by the doctors that they went to, because of the technology back then. But they kept me. And here I am.” She smiled.

Q perked up at this. “Your father. The one who carried you. How..”

“You mean, is he still alive?”

Q nodded, suddenly afraid to speak.

The girl reaches into her coat and pulls out a phone. Thumbing through it, she brings up a picture. “That’s my Da, the one who carried me. And the one with the crazy mass of curls is my Father. The little boy with the face that looks like he’d just swollen a lemon whole is my little brother, Hal. That picture was taken two days ago when we were having dinner with my uncle.” She places her phone in his hand. “I was born premature and nobody thought I would make it. But I did. When my Da was pregnant a second time around, my father left us for two months because my Da wouldn’t listen to him and get an abortion. You’ve heard that the more pregnancies a Carrier goes through, the higher the risks involved climb? I was 12, then. And my Da almost didn’t make it.”

Q looks down at his abdomen.

“You have that same look.” She said as the speakers blared out the approaching station.  “Don’t do it alright?” She presses her pack of fruits into his hands, taking her phone back. As the tube slowed to a stop and the doors open, she stood up and smile. “Take care of yourself.”

Blinking, Q said, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Just call me the Doctor. Here to help.” She winked, waving as she was swallowed up by the throng of Londoners all on their way to some place or another. Q can’t help but laugh, smiling properly for the first time since he got the news.

No matter. He isn’t the Quartermaster of Britain’s intelligence agency for nothing. He’ll find her and thank her eventually.


	2. The secrets we all keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry I can't reply to all the lovely comments I got from the previous chapter individually. So here! Have another one. I expect, if everything goes well, I'll be able to post Chapter 3 soon enough. :) 
> 
> Enjoy and thank you all for your support!

Q stands naked in front of his floor length bathroom mirror. He’d gotten it three days after the Skyfall mission. Bond may have been a major factor in that decision. Closing his eyes, he wills away that train of thought.

Turning to one side, he smoothes a palm over the flat surface of his stomach, frowning as he arches his back and tries to distend it with his breathing. He tries to imagine the changes he'll experience in the coming two months, three, four. Most Carrier babies don’t come to full term, so he expects that he’d probably be pregnant for 7 or 8 months. Q presses down on his breast, feeling the softness there. He has read that they’ll swell with milk and more than likely be sore and painful. Frowning, he decides he won’t be looking forward to that very much. So will his feet, he bets. Q expects that he’ll gain some weight and hopes no one will be stupid enough to ask when the time comes. If they do, well, Q has an armada of viruses and tricks and a few more less than legal things up his sleeve that will make their lives an interesting one to live. Smiling at the unexpected comfort brought upon by that thought, he wonders when those infamous cravings will start.

“Hello.” He says, feeling rather silly. Q touches a hand to the reflection of his abdomen. The afternoon sun streaming in through the blinds of his window illuminates the fine hairs on his skin. The man staring back at him looked too young, watching him warily with sad eyes. “You probably can’t hear me yet… But I’m-I’m your dad.” He inhales slowly. The admission sinks into his consciousness. Feeling the corners of his lips lift in a smile, “Yeah. That’s right. I’m your dad. And you’re my baby. We haven’t met yet, so hello.”

Q traces a line above his pelvis, feeling contentment wash over him and intermingles with the fear that was still there. “I’m scared. And I’m sorry for earlier. You know? About wanting you gone? You have to believe me when I tell you that I never meant it. Not even then, when I said it.” He says to no one in particular. “I’m really, very scared right now. But I promise I won’t be for long. I’ll be stronger and I’ll take care if you even though it’ll be only two of us. Yeah. I will.”

A droplet of water falls on where his hand rests. Looking up at his face, he sees rivers of tears have formed on his cheeks. Q wipes them away. “I’m not sad, love.” He says, “I’m just… Feeling very overwhelmed right now.” Biting down on his bottom lip, he goes to sit on the toilet seat and spends the next three hours talking and laughing and crying to no one and everyone that mattered.

He spends the next two days in a haze of routine, meetings and conversations he can barely remember being like bright flashes in the moments where he can think of nothing but worry, happiness, frustrations and fear. It is on the end of the second day, just as he is about to leave, that he stands at the door of Dr. Gunthra’s office with his knuckles raised and poised to knock.

“…doing this, 007.”

‘James? Bond? He’s not even supposed to be back for another day!’ Panicking, he takes out his tablet and begins drawing up the surveillance video feed from the cameras he’d planted in the med bay. He never thought he’d be thankful of the fact that out of the two personnel that knows of their existence, he is the only one alive. Frantically, he hacks the keypad at the door and ducks into an empty office nearby.

The linking is almost instantaneous. Gunthra’s voice is clear as she speaks, although the image quality could still be greatly improved on.

“You need a life, 007. Something to do outside these walls.” She says, hands cradling her mug of coffee. 007 merely stands, shrugging on his coat.

“I have a life, thank you very much.” He says, adjusting his tie. “One that, very fortunately for M’s blood pressure, does not involve property damage.” Q watches him smirk, buttoning his sleeves.

“I’m pulling you out of active duty for next week. Anything short of the apocalypse, you understand?” She sits at her desk and begins typing away on her computer. “You’ve been away for three weeks--” She stops, looking up at Bond.

He catches her look, raising an eyebrow, “Am I in the all-clear?”

“As clear as a bruised and beaten up horse could be, yes.” She says, still looking at him. “Why the rush, double-oh? Have you got a missus stashed away waiting somewhere?”

Bond tilts his head and evades the question altogether by picking up a stack of files, “Goodbye Dr. Gunthra.”

Q closes the feed and waits until he hears his footsteps disappear. And waits. And waits until he can breathe normally again before he steps out of the darkened office and knocks on Gunthra’s door.

“Q.” She says. By the tone of her voice, she had not been expecting to see him in her office this soon.

He goes and sits down on the examination table. Q can feel her staring at him, but he ignores it, picking at the hem of his cardigan (the TARDIS blue one that never fails to make him feel safe) instead.

“If I keep the baby, what… What’s going to happen? In terms of work and stuff.” He asks. “Do I have to resign? Do I have to give up everything I’ve worked for? I know what to expect in terms of my body changing, but what’s going to happen then?” He looks up, suddenly noting that she is climbing up on the table next to him. “How do they do it? The normal people, with the normal lives and their normal days do it?”

Gunthra waits awhile before she speaks. “A bit like us, I suppose. Normality is just a state of mind, Q.” She brushes his fringe away from his eyes. “If you keep the baby, there are procedures to follow. I’ll have to alert M to the situation.”

“Because of my security clearance.”

“Because of your security clearance, yes.” She nods, “Male Carriers typically don’t show until they are approaching their second trimester, and even then it won’t be overtly obvious. You can still perform your duties here at MI6 until you deliver, provided you come to me every week for a check-up and you follow my instructions to the T.” She smiles gently, “It’ll be alright. You’ll see. I’ll make sure you and the child are safe and healthy.”

Q grins, sliding off the table and walking down to the seat. “I want to be there when you tell M. I have a say in that, right? I promise to come see you every week, but only if you let me bury my files under a maze and a firewall that will only permit you and M to view them. No one else.”

“What about the baby’s father?” Gunthra asks, her brown eyes sharp. “I take it he knows?”

Q’s hand gently rubbed against his abdomen. “No. He doesn’t. And he doesn’t need to know.”

She sighs, “It’s Bond isn’t it? The other father. Everything adds up, you know. The whole office already thinks you’re shagging the living daylights out of each other.” Q remains mum. “Look here now. If and it’s an if I really do not need to consider, if Bond was the father, why can’t he know?”

“Like you said. My security clearance. His job. Our lives…” He slips the glasses off, huffing. “They could use us to get to him, and him to get to me, and the baby to get to both of us! I don’t know if I could… I don’t.” Q pursed his lips, “I don’t even think he wants a baby. We certainly never talk about it.” Q pushed himself off the chair, standing up. “It is best for everyone involved if for the time being, he didn’t know a thing.”

“Wouldn’t it be much easier if you left for awhile? You could disappear until the child is born, I know you could. Look, I’m not the best when it comes to Carrier pregnancies and I could refer you to some who are. Don’t you think you’d be better off with someone that you can trust? She asked.

Q looks her in the eyes as he says quietly, “I trust you. I trust you with my life and my baby’s too.”

Gunthra quirks a smile, “Thanks. I’m flattered.” Pause. "I think."

“I’ll set up a meeting with M around 10 tomorrow. I’ll see you there.” He turns to leave, when he is stop by Gunthra’s voice.

“How long do you think you can keep it from him?” She says, “He’s bound to know that something is up when you suddenly stop showing up for work in 7 months.”

Q digs his fingers into the door frame, heart pounding. “I’ll keep it from him for as long as I can.” He leaves without turning back to look at whatever expression Gunthra might be sporting.


	3. Deception is a game best played in twos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is jealousy and pear Danishes.

In all honesty, Moneypenny scares him. She’s all sugar, honey and softness, but Q is sure that underneath that quiet, smiling veneer lies something that he wouldn’t want to cross.

“Good Morning Q.” She greets when he steps into the outer sanctum of M’s office. “You are here for… The appointment at 10? Are we still waiting for Dr. Gunthra?” She smiles when he nods wordlessly, sinking into the safety of the nearest chair.

He’s early, choosing to arrive when he does to give him time to collect his thoughts and gather his wits about him. Q fidgets in his chair. It feels a little bit like going to the headmasters’. Not that he would know anything. He was a model student. For most parts.

“Good Morning, Moneypenny.” Bond calls as he walks in, laying down a box of pastries on Moneypenny’s desk. “Is M in?”

Q looks away and tries to blend himself into the upholstery. He can’t help but think venomously that Bond has never bought _him_ anything; pastries, tea… Gritting his teeth, he blinks away the sudden rush of irrational anger. What does it matter anyways? He’s better off without the attention in any case.

“Q? Would you like some?” Moneypenny’s voice called him. He gives himself a whiplash turning around, blushing when he sees that Bond is smirking at him.

“Um. No thanks.” He replies quickly. “Not hungry.”

“Are you sure? They’re the pear Danish from the corner shop you favour.” Bond smiles, crossing his arms, and leaning back against Moneypenny’s desk.

Q frowns. ‘How could he have possibly known that?’ He wonders. God knows he varies the routes and ways he travels to and from work everyday, keeping a varied routine as per taught in their employee seminars. He schools his face into a mask of indifference, “No, thank you.” He watches with a sadistic pleasure as the smile slips off Bond’s face and he set his mouth into a thin line. Q looks away, the tension in the room palpable.

Gunthra chooses this time to walk into the office, freezing when she sees Bond there. “What are you doing here? It’s not the apocalypse is it?” She looks to Q for confirmation.

“Not that I know of.” He shrugged, biting back a smile when Bond looked like a child being caught with his hand in the tin of biscuits.

Moneypenny watches this all with a quirk of her perfectly drawn brow. Taking a bite out of her pastry, she gets up to knock on the door. “You can go in now.”

Q determinedly does not look at Bond when he walks past him.

The meeting goes about as well as Q had braced himself for. M casts him with an all-knowing eye, asking nothing about the father but everything about his ability to do his job. He would’ve bristled at the hints of doubts about his abilities, but he knows that this is and always will be a matter of the safety of this nation first, personal life second. So he sits in his chair and lets Dr. Gunthra talk.

When they exit the office, Q is made to promise that he will divide his workload and that he will leave the building at 6 everyday. He loves his job, and his interns are much more capable of functioning on their own than they were when he first picked them up. It isn’t much of a sacrifice to be able to still work.

He has also reluctantly made an agreement that three months before his baby’s expected due date, he will be placed under maternity leave disguised as a joint development project with their Swiss counterparts, where he will be whisked to one of the safe houses in the North to deliver. He doesn’t like it, but he knows the necessity of it. No one must ever know that the Quartermaster of MI6 has a child. The ‘has a weakness’ is never said, but heavily implied.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.” M says as he shakes his hand.

“Thank you sir.” Q says, unsure of the accurate response in a situation like this.

When they exit the office, Bond is gone. Moneypenny reminds him that his department is late on the budget forms again, and he stammers that he’ll get it to her as soon as possible. Gunthra sneaks looks at him, and he ignores her best he can. They reach her floor first. Gunthra slips him a card with her number written on it. “Call me. At anytime if you have any worries. Alright? It doesn’t matter if it’s in the middle of the night. If you feel just the little bit out of sorts, you call me.” She says as she turns to leave. “Again, congratulations Q.” Q sighs, slipping the card into his pants pocket.

He stepped towards his labs with no small amount of trepidation. But his fears were cut short when he found that the only ones there were a few interns and some of the more senior members of his team. It did not explain why his heart felt a pang of hurt that choked him from the inside out. Q greeted his team with a nod, moving quickly towards his desk.

“Hey boss!” Vincent, one of the newer interns approached his desk as he booted up his computer. “007 dropped this off for you.”

Q swallowed, staring at the proffered box with the logo of a coffee cup. “When did he come by here?” He asks, taking the box and setting it on his table with care he rarely gave anything other than his creations.

“This morning when everyone was still getting in? Just after you left for your appointment at 10.”

When he gets no reply, Vincent shrugged it off as one of his boss’ peculiarities and went back to his own desk. Q could feel his heart beating hard against his chest, lifting the tab to open the box.

_For you – J_

The note in the box read. Inside were 5 different kinds of Danish pastries and Q wondered what devil Bond had made a pact with to procure this. Usually everything was gone by the time he went there for his morning tea. He holds the box close to his chest, swivelling the chair around so that he is hidden from the rest of the world as he bites into his first pastry.

If there were ever any tendrils of hope, they were pushed aside in the need to satisfy the hungry growl of his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have another chapter/update/thing. Just because I can. And because I'm partying in my room over Obama's win. 
> 
> <3


	4. An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into James and Q's not-relationship.

It didn’t mean anything.

The first time they’d had sex was nothing short of a competition; rough, and fast and hard. It was both of them trying to work their aggression into the way they moved together. It had left Q wobbling for a week when he walked, dreading whenever he had to stay seated for too long and James wincing whenever he had to wear a shirt. Q will never admit it, and he’ll take this to his grave if he had to, but every single time he pressed down on the marks James had left on his body, he feels a little like freefalling out of the sky.

That, however, had definitely not justified the second time, and the third, and the fourth.

They’d taken any opportunity available, anywhere convenient. It was stress relief. Nothing more. And on the eve of that mission all those weeks ago, they’d spent the whole night in James’ bed. He was gone in the morning, of course. Q had booked him that flight, so he should know. Even with that knowledge at hand, it didn’t help when he woke up in James’ bed, on James’ sheets, smelling James’ scent on his skin that he’d wished for more. And then he’d wished harder that he hadn’t wanted anything at all. This was good; whatever this was, it had helped. Bond was better behaved for at least a week after each of their encounters, making him a better managed agent much to the relief of M.

It isn’t as if he was ignorant about what James got up to in the name of Queen and country. Oh, he knew. Half of the time, he’s the one who handles the check-ins and the mission reports. The other half of the time he was the voice in Bond’s earpiece guiding him through the mission. Q has a masochistic streak a mile wide. That’s why he’s also the one who handles it when Bond gets intimate with targets or persons of interest. That’s why he lets the sounds of sex and skin and of kisses from lips that kissed his just days before, wash over him. He lets all of these sounds drown out the sound of his heart breaking.

It doesn’t matter. If Bond ever knew… If Bond found out about what was happening in his body, to his body, he’ll run. And he won’t stop. Q knows about Vesper Lynd; the woman 007 was willing to leave the service for, to give up everything that made his existence, the woman he loved, the woman who betrayed him.

Vesper Lynd is and always will be the woman who, in death, still held Bond’s heart in the palm of her cold, cold hands. Q will take what he can get. He’ll take whatever was left behind, take whatever he could give and hold it as best he could to his own brokenness.

Because the truth of the matter was that Q had been in love with him long before Skyfall. Because the first time Q had accessed 007’s files, fresh from the grimy lock-up in Westerham for breaking into his step-father’s house, still so wary of M and her piercing glares, he knew then. From the first time he saw James Bond’s icy blue eyes stare back at him.

There was no way he could ever leave London and disappear to somewhere where he could not find him and not feel like he’d left a part of him behind.


	5. Can't seem to let you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q is a little hormonal. Just a little.

Bond is scheduled to leave for a deep cover operation for the next two months just as Q enters his third month. He is staring to show now. Bond drops by Q-branch for his equipment and Q could not hide fast enough. “If I were anyone else, I would’ve thought that you were avoiding me.” He says as a little smile plays on his lips as he studiously stares at Q’s face.

“If you were anyone else, 007, I would have told you to stuff it.” Q catches the quicksilver change of emotions on Bond’s face, before it settles into a mask of indifference. He feels horrible almost immediately, an apology on his lips. But Bond moves to the other side of the table. Sighing, he hoists a black non-descript case onto the table, unlatching it to reveal the devices he had been working on in those hours he’d been sent home early.

Q explains each and every one of the gadgets, biting back on the bile rising at the back of his throat. “Please bring them back after your mission has concluded. I would not venture to presume that they will return to me in one piece, but do try all the same.” He says, stuffing his clenched fist into his pocket. Bond needs to get right the fuck out of his lab right now so that he can make a run for the loo. Q grips the edge of the table, breathing in deep lung full of air.

“Are you alright?” Bond says, pressing in close. Q can smell his cologne and a hint of something feminine. Scowling, he pushes himself away.

“I’m fine.” He throws back as he walks away. It is a brisk walk to the men’s. He looks around, checking if there is anyone in there with him. Satisfied, he turns the lock and bruises his knees falling to the marble tiles. Q’s hands are bone white where they hold on the rims of the toilet.

“I’m fine.” He says hoarsely, spitting out the acrid taste in his mouth. Dimly, he wonders who he’s trying to convince.

Bond is not there when he returns and he doesn’t think much of it. As the clock ticks closer to 6, he ascends to the medical bay where Dr. Gunthra is waiting. She says nothing, merely motions for him to strip and to wear the sea foam green gown she has laid out for him. Q knows that green is supposed to be a soothing colour, but all it is doing is making him want to upchuck his tea.

“I’ve been nauseous and light-headed the entire day. Is that supposed to be normal?” He asks as she takes down his blood pressure. Gunthra frowns at his reading. “I think we need to start drawing up some eating plans.”

“We could definitely do that. Your readings are lower than I would like them to be. Can you stay in the bay tonight? I don’t want to take any chances. I could put you on a drip if you’d like? It seems like your baby is being rather difficult.” She rummages through the pocket of her coat, pulling out a pack of sour gums. “Have some of these while I set you up.”

Q leans back against the pillow, closing his eyes as the med bay lights are dimmed. He lays one hand on his stomach and sighs, running a hand through his hair. Bond was probably in his flat now, waiting for him to get there. It was their ritual; meeting somewhere, fucking, and then leaving in the morning to pretend that it never happened. The agent usually broke in whenever he is about to leave on a mission. Q blinks. It means nothing to Bond and as such it should mean nothing to him too.

But what about the baby? Didn’t it mean something?

Gunthra walks back in with her solution bag. “I’ll be in the office if you need anything. The only things you are allowed to do tonight are to watch some telly and get some sleep.” She says.

“Thank you.” Q says, smiling softly. “Really.” Gunthra blinks twice before smiling back.

“Just as long as you do not decide to destroy my life through the internet, I think we’re fine.”

Q laughs at that, bidding her a goodnight as he draws the covers around his shoulders, feeling colder than he should be in the temperature controlled room.

He wakes up, not knowing how long it has been since he fell asleep, and not particularly caring. The bag hanging above is halfway gone, and he can hear Gunthra in the office typing at her computer.

“This is going to be our life, isn’t it?” He whispers, rubbing a tired hand across his face. “Just you and I, and me keeping you a secret from the rest of the world. And I’m so sorry, love. I wish it could be different, but it’s for your own good.” He is silent for awhile. “I can’t tell him. Your father. I can’t and I won’t apologise for it no matter what people may say. It’s not because I am being selfish and obstinate and deliberately hurtful… It’s because I love him too much. Can you imagine?” He thumbs at his cloth covered stomach. “If he knew about you, he wouldn’t be able to focus on his missions. He’ll over think this and that would be bad.”

He watches the play of coloured lights on the med bay ceiling from the machines littered in every corner. The lights of the room are almost all dark now. “You know that a lot of things hinge on him getting the job done. The safety of the world and all that… It would be taking away something that made him, well, _him_. I wish I knew for sure how he’d react to you. I’d like to believe that in time, he would love you as much as I do already. That he would want you just as much I do.” Q buries his face into the pillow, body shaking with the loneliness he has felt every minute since that first day. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? We can never be sure of the emotions of others but our own.”

Q curls up on the bed, drawing the covers tighter around his body, shivering in a chill that was bone deep and not of the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I love this fandom a little more than is strictly healthy. ;A;
> 
> If you guys have any suggestions, questions, or prompts you would like to see me do, come on over and drop me an ask at my tumblr; randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> You can drop me a line of a song, a quote, anything. You all have been absolutely lovely to me, and I want to pay it back somehow.
> 
> Don't be shy! I would love to work on a prompt from you guys.


	6. Falling to pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There's something you're not telling me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Have another chapter. Oh, and remember when I said it would be around 8 chapters long, you do realize I was lying right?

He wakes again just before 3 in the morning and slips away to his office for the change of clothes he keeps in the bottom left draw of his desk. The air is cold and he wraps his arms around his gown covered body, cursing under his breath and wishing he had asked Gunthra where she’d left his cardigan.

“Why didn’t you come last night?” Q startles, knocking his shin against a sharp corner, cursing over the shock of pain in his system. Bond stands by the computer banks, dressed for travel. The lab is suspiciously empty, and Q feels his heart leap to his throat.

“It doesn’t matter.” He bites, looking at everything but Bond, bending down to unlock the draw. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane--”

Bond makes a grab for his wrist. “It matters to me!”  He growls angrily, pulling Q up until they are flushed against each other, pressed from chest to toe. Bond holds him trapped with one hand wrapped around his hips, the other holding his right wrist in a death grip. “Something is wrong and you’re not telling me! You run the other way when you see me coming, you hide whenever I am in the same room as you are, and even now _you can’t even look me in the eyes_!”

Q squeezes his eyes close. “L-let me go. Please.” He pushes his free hand against Bond’s shoulder. This was not James, the man he has shared a bed with, neither was he Bond, the agent who hung around the lab and flirted with everything with two legs. The man holding him close is 007. The man with the licence to kill.

“Not until you tell me. Tell me what is wrong. What did I do wrong? Have I done something I shouldn’t have?” Bond presses, eyes flashing bright with frustration and anger, “It’s driving me _crazy_ that you’re angry at me for something I didn’t even know I did wrong… Q, please do not take me for a fool. There’s something that you’re hiding from me is there?” He whispers, almost pleading.

Q is on the verge of tears. His head is full of noise and he’s started shaking. But Bond does not notice, holding him only tighter when Q weakens his struggles, taking his silence as a confirmation.

“Let go of him 007.”

They both turn to see M standing at the door, face grim. Bond releases him almost immediately, hands twitching to steady Q when he catches and leans against his desk for support. There is a silent stand-off between M and 007, but Q is only focused on the way his world is tilting and moving away from him at too fast a speed that his mind can longer catch up.

The next thing he feels is the weight and warmth of a coat on his shoulders. “You’ll catch your death in those things.” He hears whispered in his ears. There was a brush of lips against his crown and then Bond was gone.

M walks him to his office, sitting him in his leather sofa that still smelt new. He doesn’t speak, but Q knows.

“Ask away, sir.” He mumbles tiredly, wanting to just go back to his flat and sleep the world away. “I won’t lie, I promise.”

“Is he it then? The father of your child?” Q instinctively wraps his arms around his torso, nodding slowly. He hears M sigh and a cabinet door squeak as it is opened. “I would offer you a drink, but well, you know.” M says, pouring a generous finger of scotch for himself. “How long?” He asks.

Q looks up, staring at M. “How long have you two…”

“Just after Skyfall. It means nothing, sir. And it was fully consensual. Neither one of us were coerced or forced.” He hastened to add, “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“To hell, it doesn’t mean anything!” M cried, slamming his glass onto the desk. Q watches as the amber liquor in the glass sloshes over half the reports on the desk. “It clearly meant something to him, Q. Or have you been blind to the way he looked at you?”

“He doesn’t look at me any differently than he looks at a body to warm his bed! He doesn’t want me any differently either!” Q stands, gesturing angrily. He had had enough. “I’m nothing more than someone he shares a bed with and then leaves in the morning. I’m worse! I have to pretend that it doesn’t mean a thing to me, because it fucking well does! I’m not anything special to him, and I am most certainly not… Not…”

“Q! Calm down!” M is holding him at the wrist. “Breathe…” He turns to look at Moneypenny (when did she get here?), “Get us a cup of tea and call for Dr. Gunthra. Quickly!”

Q can feel himself shaking, struggling to breathe. He gasps, pinpricks of pain shooting up in his chest. M sits him back down, wrapping him in James’ coat that he had walked into the office with. Q takes a deep breath, burying his nose into the fabric; breathing in the smell of James’ cologne, the underlying smell of the city, metal and gunpowder, and something earthy that was Jamesjamesjamesj _ames_ —

Dr. Gunthra is injecting him with something and he wants to ask if it would hurt the child when he suddenly an overwhelming urge to close his eyes and fall asleep now.


	7. Rivers of emotions (I can't be what you need)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big reveal.

Q opens his eyes to find that he was in his own flat again. Sunlight streamed in through the opened window, letting in the sounds of the city in. There’s someone in his kitchen and he is on alert. After a quick pat down to ensure that he was fine, he quietly retrieves the handgun he keeps in his bedside table.

“I’m not here to rob you, so I’d rather you not shoot me.” He points the gun and releases the safety. Bond is standing at his bedroom door. In an apron with patterns of little lemons taped to what seemed to be an aeroplane on it, holding his hands up in placating gesture. When he sees that Q isn’t going to put down the gun anytime soon, Bond sighs. “I’ve made soup. It still needs a few minutes, but it’ll be done and if you’d like, you can come have some.” He runs a hand through his hair, backing away slowly.

Q doesn’t cock back the safety until he hears the pots and pans clank in the kitchen. Only then does he slip his gun back to its hiding place, quickly grabbing for the coat slung over the back of a nearby chair and jamming on his glasses.

“What are you doing here?” He asks warily, watching Bond set the table. All he gets in reply is a quirk of the brow.

“Food first. Talking can wait till later.” Bond says, taking his hand and pulling him down to a chair. Q notes that his eyes darken slightly when he takes a spoon to press into his hand. He follows his line of sight and blushes when he sees finger-shaped bruises flowering on his wrist.

“I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to be that rough.” He murmurs apologetically, gently stroking his wrist and the ring of bruises. Q feels like his body is burning up, on fire where James’s fingers touch.

Q doesn’t pull away. He shifts the spoon to his other hand and begins to eat, letting himself soak in the bizarreness of it all and the fact that James is here in his flat, at his dining table holding his hand while he finishes the bowl of soup he had cooked _for_ him. Q feels the onset of a migraine hovering in the edges of his consciousness.

“Shouldn’t you be in deep cover by now?” Q asks, just as he is about to finish his soup. He won’t admit it, but he wouldn’t mind a second bowl. Or a third. It seems the baby likes it. Frowning a little at his stomach, he thinks, ‘Not even born and already as sneaky as your father.’

“Shouldn’t you be telling me something?” The spoon in Q’s hand freezes midway to his mouth. Bond takes it out of his hands, pulling the bowl closer to him and begins _feeding him_. This should feel like a scene out of a Meg Ryan movie, but why does he feel like a cornered animal instead? Bond feeds him the last spoonfuls and then gets up to fill the bowl with more. “Q, you know I’d never hurt you. Never deliberately or with any malicious intent. You know that right?” He asks voice quiet. The noise of the street below sounded loud in the silence of the flat.

Q looks into his earnest eyes, nodding slowly. “So you know that whatever you’re not telling me, is only going to make me think the worst? I know we’ve never talked about anything to do with us, but I would like to start now. We can talk about anything you want…”

“I’m pregnant.” Q whispers, hand on his stomach again. “I’m pregnant and it’s yours and that’s my secret. I am pregnant.” He looks down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Right. Just… Right.” He hears the chair scrapping back, closing his eyes when he listens to James leave through the front door. _Right_.

That’s it then. Q sucks in shuddering air into his lungs, willing the tears to stop falling and his heart to stop breaking. He knew this would happen, and had never expected less. But it did not stop him from feeling like he was being shattered into a million tiny pieces.

 _Right_.

He lets himself cry for another minute or two, letting his sobs fall into his hands, tears fogging up his glasses. He had kept himself from bursting at the seams for thus long, but James leaving like that… Q shakes his head, patting the soft rise of his bump, before picking himself up and moving to the bedroom. Opening his closet, he rummages for the dummy wall, pushing on it to reveal a compartment. Taking the bag out, and sorting through his various passports and currencies, he chooses one that MI6 has never registered as one of his aliases.

Q puts on some clothes; a hoodie, jeans, with three layers of shirts underneath it all because he felt so very cold. He packs his entire life into a duffle bag in less than two minutes, trying very hard not to think about the things he was doing. Q pauses on the way to the door, returning back into the bedroom to make a grab for James’ coat. When he walks out the door, he doe not look back. It’s time to disappear.

When Q has purchased his tickets, he calls Gunthra with the number from her card. She picks up on the first ring, clearly surprised that he called. “You were right.” He says, choking a little on the emotions welling up in him. “I _can_ make myself disappear. I’m doing it now.”

“Q? What’s wrong? Where are you?” He hears the sound of plastic crackling. “Is this call untraceable?”

“Yes. And I told him. And he left. Just like that.”

“Oh Q…” He could imagine her pinching the bridge of her nose. He sees it that he seems to cause her to do what very often. “Q, where are you?”

“I’m leaving. I’m. I’m going away for a little while. Go to M tomorrow and tell him I’m taking my maternity leave slightly earlier than scheduled.”

There is a pause on the other end of the line, “Be careful alright? Tell me when you’re settled in and I’ll draw up a list of doctors you can visit in the vicinity.”

“Won’t you run to M about it?”

“You hold one of the highest ranking positions in the British Secret Service. I’ll have to, if you want to avoid everyone and their dog nipping at your heels.” Q smiles.

“I’ll be in touch.” He says, terminating the call. Pausing only for a moment, he makes another call, terminating it after the third ring. He takes out the battery of the mobile and snaps the sim card in half before tossing it into the nearby trash can. It never hurts to err on the side of caution.

He buys two seats, not wanting to be disturbed. He’s never actually been on the Eurostar before and he wishes that his first time could’ve been for a better reason, but it’s not, so he curls up in his seat, pretending that he doesn’t feel a gnawing sense of longing.

It is dark when he arrives in Paris but he knows better than to dawdle. Q knows he needs to keep moving. He reckons he has about 8 to 10 more hours before Gunthra walks into M’s office. Keeping his head down, Q moves with the crowd, blending in with the movement to the entrance way.

“When you rang, I almost couldn’t believe it.” Q turns around and is assaulted by a solid wall of muscle. He relaxes immediately, feeling a sense of relief wash over him as he wraps his arms around the taller man.

“Hello brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't live in Europe, and I've never been on the Eurostar. Whatever I have wrote on it, I have wrote it based on what Google gave me. 
> 
> There's a reason (as there always is) with Bond reacting the way he did. Be patient and I'll tell you soon enough. 
> 
> Also, Skyfall release in the US! Finally! Welcome aboard the HMS 00Q. Here, have a cookie.


	8. He ain't heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q on a road trip

Q had not seen Liam for over 3 years and his older brother had not changed one bit. They were only five years apart, and when Liam left their step-father’s house when he was 18, they spent the next few years communicating through sparse phone calls, the occasional letter delivered via their grandmother. When Marie Dupont died at the age of 87, they met each other for the first time in 7 years.

The years have been kind to Liam; he’d inherited their father’s looks and their mother’s hair. A mixture of which had made a rather popular man amongst the ladies. Q wondered if Liam was a Carrier as well.

They pick their way through the throng of Parisians, the air thick with the scent of fumes, perfumes and coffee. He can see that Liam is throwing him increasingly worried looks as they slide into Liam’s car.

“I’m not dying, Liam. If that’s what you’re thinking.” He says, looking out the window at the passing cityscapes.

His brother scoffs, “Well, forgive me for thinking the worst when my little brother calls me up and hangs up after three rings. Something he told me he would do if he ever felt threatened and needed to see me.” It was true. Soon after he’d begun at MI6, Q had had a system set up in the event he needed to get to Liam in a situation of duress. “I haven’t seen you in three years and every single time I come to London, you’re always too busy to come meet me.”

“I said I’m sorry, alright?” Q mumbles, leaning his head against the cool glass pane. Paris twinkled around him like a million fairy lights. He’d always wanted to come here. Then again, there were many things he’d wanted to do. “I’m sorry if I’d bothered you.”

The punch to the arm was unexpected. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For being a bloody idiot. You’re my little brother and I love you, so don’t ever think you are being a ‘bother’ to me, okay? Whatever it is you need, whatever it is you’re going through, I’m here and I’ll look after you.” Liam said, hands clenched on the wheel of his car. Q smiles, despite himself.

“Thanks.”

They amble through the streets of Paris, weaving in and out of lanes, turning into streets with names Q could not pronounce, until they were on a road with lighter traffic with the Eiffel tower slipping further into the distance.

“Are you hungry?” Liam asked, “I could do with some food.”

Q shrugs and follows him out of the car when they stop in front of a diner off the highway. They take a booth in the back, and he lets his older brother order for him.

“You’re not sick, nor are you dying. So why exactly are you here?” Liam asked, folding his arms across his front. “I’d rather know what is happening that you suddenly need me to drop a really hot date to go on this cross country escapade.” Quirking an eyebrow, he adds, “Well?”

The waitress arrives with hot chocolate for him and coffee for Liam. Q wraps his hands around the mug, letting the warmth leech into his skin. “I’m pregnant. And I need to go away for awhile.”

Liam, the bastard, laughs. “Well. Isn’t that something?” He smiles, bright and wide. “Here I was, thinking that you’d gotten fat.”

Q itches to reach for the Baretta he has in his bag, but refrains just as quickly as the thought occurs to him.

He clears his throat, “Is it because of the baby’s father? Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes and no. Simple version is that I’m taking my doctor’s advice and leaving London for a bit.” Smiling sadly, “Just until the baby is born.”

“Is this one of those situations where the asshole that knocked you up is beating you, because if he is…”

“It’s nothing of the sort, Liam.” Q stops him before he said something he could not take back. “We just… Didn’t work out. That’s all.” Their supper arrives in steaming bowls and hearty portions. Liam takes one of Q’s hands, squeezing gently.

“Eat up, alright? You’ve got a baby to feed now.” Liam chuckles. It is moments like this that makes Q eternally grateful for his brother’s presence in his life. They might not be as close as other siblings may be, but Liam is the one of the remaining persons left in the world who remembers his real name.

“You’re taking this better than I expected you would.”

Liam furrows his brow thoughtfully. “To be honest, when I found out that Gran’s dad was a Carrier I always figured it would be me who’d inherited the genes. Never got around for a test, but it seems like there’s no need.” He grinned, shovelling some vegetables into his mouth.

Q tries to cling on to that when 15 miles later, Liam brakes abruptly. “What? What’s wrong?” Q asks, looking at the rearview mirror and then back at Liam.

“I just realised something. I’m an uncle now.” His eyes wide, face pale. Q would very much like to laugh, but since the man was the one driving, he thought it best not to say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short because I'm actually packing for a weekend away. I'm afraid that this would be the only update until Monday, when I get back :( I'm sorry... 
> 
> If you ever needed to imagine how Liam looked like, just think of Eoin (I forgot his last name!), the guy who plays Gawaine on Merlin. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy your weekends!


	9. We're the lucky ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a twist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back early and if anyone is online, this is for you guys! (What are you guys doing online anyways?? It's the weekend! Go watch Skyfall!) Only one chapter for now, because I'm knackered and I'm going to sleep after this.
> 
> <3

They were in Berlin for 26 hours when Q was hit with an overwhelming urge for durians and soy sauce. Liam was out to buy some groceries to stock up their supplies before they had to move on. His older brother was oddly protective; telling him not to venture out of the room, to stay indoors and out of sight. Q did not think much about it, merely chalking it up to him being pregnant and his brother being overbearing. But he did not see the need to argue. Until now.

The room they had rented was a place on the third floor of a non-descript building. It had been a bit of a climb for him, huffing and puffing as he went up the flights of stairs, but he’d glared venomously at Liam whenever he opened his mouth to offer help. Q was not a damsel and definitely not in distress. He did not need a hero.

Although he hated the stairs, he could see the need for their location. From their dining room window, he could easily observe the traffic and passerby below. The building had two different stairwells that they could use. There was hardly anyone on their floor and the landlady lived across town.

The internal debate only lasted as long as it did for his stomach to growl. Sighing a little, Q shrugs on his coat and wraps a warm scarf around his neck. He’ll be quick. Just a quick pop into the café down the street and then back again. It won’t be long, and he would be back before anyone knew any better. He slipped his hands into warm fur-lined gloves, pausing. Bond had given them to him as a gift last year.

Bond had showed up one morning, just as he exited the Metro, waiting for him. The agent had taken his bare hands in his glove covered ones and frowned. When Q was ready to leave that evening, there had been a dark green box waiting on his desk, with the gloves nestled in a bed of tissue paper. Q did not thank Bond, but the next time he’d waited at the entrance of the Metro station, Q slipped his own glove covered hand into Bond’s.

He shakes the memory away, tugging on his gloves, flexing his hands before tucking them deep into his coat pocket. He places them over the warmth of his stomach and the solid feel of the gun at his left. It’s no good thinking about Bond.

The streets are almost empty when the cold winter air sinks her teeth through the layers of clothes that he has on. Q hunches his shoulders, trying to keep warm. Yesterday’s snow covers the pavements in a layer of white.

Every store front he passes has their wares displayed amongst Christmas decorations, the air filled with the smell of cinnamon and ginger. It made him ache for a moment, for his mother’s Christmas cakes, and the welcoming warmth of her kitchen in the winter months. He strokes at his bump, smiling into the scarf. One day, he will have a kitchen that his own baby could love and grow in.

There is a crowd of people in the café when he arrives, all of them packed into the tight space like sardines attracted to the shelter and warmth. The line at the counter was, luckily, short. Q sent a silent prayer of thanks as he got in line.

“Wie weit sind Sie?” The woman in front of him asks suddenly, smiling shyly. “Es tut mir Leid. Damit meine ich nicht zu neugierig zu sein."

Q smiles back. The lady seemed nice enough; light brown hair framing a heart shaped face. "Es ist in Ordnung. Ich... bin drei Monate schwanger."

“Ist dies Ihr erstes Kind?" She asks as they huddle close together, moving slowly to the sanctuary of the counter. "Ich habe selber zwei. Alles scheint anfangs überwältigend. Aber es ist es wirklich wert." Q notes a hint of pride and fondness in her voice. He follows her line of sight, seeing a tall man with a happy but tired face carrying a toddler in his arms as he holds the hand of another child, standing just outside the shopfront.

" Du bist sehr gesegnet."

"Und du wirst deinen Segen bald haben." She smiles, patting his arm as she steps up to the counter to place her order. While she is at the pick up point, and Q sees the tall man coming up to her and helping her with their drinks. He watches them; she takes the child and puts her into a stroller, while the man secures the toddler in his carrier. The family move  towards the exit, but just as they were walking away, the man says something  and the woman smiles, leaning up for a kiss.

Q looks away. It had felt like he was witnessing something intimate and sacred. He quickly grabs his order and leave, walking briskly through the slight snow fall that had started while he was inside. It bothered him. There was something about seeing that woman and her family, which bothered him. He felt restless and anxious, like he was missing the point of something. He holds his cup of tea close, trying to leech off any heat.

Perhaps it was his preoccupation with the German family he’d seen, or maybe it was the subscription to the idea that he would not be found, that he did not notice the hand reaching out of the shadows of buildings

* * *

 

There was drops of blood on the floor; his. He cannot find one of the men, but the other two were close and nipping at his heels. Q struggled to breathe in the ice-cold air, as he ran for the holiday crowds.

One of the men had a knife that he’d used to stab him with, catching him unawares. They had not brought any firepower, clearly underestimating Q’s ability to fight back. The Baretta was still in his pocket, a heavy reminder of what he will have to do to protect himself and his baby.

He ducks behind the bins of a restaurant, gasping for breath. One of his gloves was missing, making Q feel a sudden sense of wistfulness. Shaking the unexpected emotion off, he looked around anticipating the men to show up in every corner.

His blood had soaked through the arm of the coat. It was merely a shoulder wound, but it still hurt like a bitch. The thought that this was probably what Bond had to deal with on a bi-weekly basis in the field, came into his head unbidden.

Q frowned, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder. His head was feeling lighter than air, vision darkening around the edges. He was no fool. Q knows that he is loosing consciousness, and fast.

The sound of a goods truck’s engine coming to life was like the sound of a gunshot in the dead of the night. Q turned and saw that the good truck was parked just at the corner of the alley way, 3 feet from where he was. Not pausing to think, Q pushed himself up and stumbled along the wall.

There was never a point in his life where he was an energetic, outdoorsy person. Climbing into the back of that truck took everything out of him, and then some.

“Look for him!” He could hear being shouted just metres away. Dragging his body, he curled himself behind crates of produce, feeling nothing in his arms. “Find him!”

Q closed his eyes and gripped the front of his coat. He was going to die like this; alone and surrounded by towering crates of vegetables and fruits. Every single breath feels like a chore. "I’m sorry, love. It seems like I can’t protect you well enough." He weakly pats his bump. He feels sorrowful. This baby, this innocent child will never see the sky, will never learn to smile, and he will never hear his baby laugh. Tears form themselves in the corner of his eyes. His baby… James…

He wanted James. He wanted to feel his calloused hands on his own skin. He wanted another kiss, another sigh, another moment in his arms. He ached for _more time_. For what? To explain himself, to let James understand? Had he been hasty when he’d left London, not waiting to hear for an explanation before he’d bolted across the English Channel?

James would’ve made a great father, he was sure of it. He would… Never let anyone hurt their child. He would have protected them with everything he had. Q wishes he could see it now; the image of James holding their baby, rocking gently, softly humming a lullaby. They would have a house, somewhere in Kensington. Somewhere with a garden because that would be where they would spend hot summer days and watch the flowers bloom in spring. In that moment, as hot tears fell, Q wants that more than anything. A life, however brief, with him.

The last coherent thought that Q has is ‘Oh, we’re moving now’, just as the truck lurches forward and the movement causing him to slump forward into a little pool of his own blood. The last thing he sees before the darkness overwhelmed him was of clear, winter blue skies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Q and the lady in the coffee shop;
> 
> [EDITED 1731 hours with the help of [Elenothar](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar)
> 
>  _Wie weit sind Sie? Es tut mir Leid. Damit meine ich nicht zu neugierig zu sein._ \-- How far along are you? I'm sorry. I do not mean to pry.
> 
>  _Es ist in Ordnung. Ich... bin drei Monate schwanger._ \-- It's okay. I... am three months along.
> 
>  _Ist dies Ihr erstes Kind? Ich habe selber zwei. Alles scheint anfangs überwältigend. Aber es ist es wirklich wert._ \-- Is this your first child? I have two of my own. Everything seems too overwhelming at first. But it is very worth it.
> 
>  _Und du wirst deinen Segen bald haben._ \-- You are very blessed.
> 
>  _Und du wirst dein Segen bald haben._ \-- And you'll soon have your own blessing.
> 
> I hope I got them right. German has been a language that had always interested me, but I never got around studying it. I used Google Translate for this, so if any of you guys read, write or speak German, drop me a line if I got anything wrong.
> 
> Okay. I'm gonna go pass out now.


	10. Moments in quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Q was about to make a run for it, when he sees a familiar figure standing by the fountain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that I probably wrote more OCs for this series than I ever did for any other story. EVER. ;^;

_James’ arms cradle him from behind. The baby sleeping in his arms, Q leans back to the safety of his touch. It’s summer and the sun is shining out. They sit on their blanket, watching the clouds float lazily in the sky. It is peaceful, and Q has never felt happier. James leans forward and presses one kiss to the baby’s head, and another to Q’s brow._

_“I love you.”_

“… Ben? Ben?” He slowly opens his eyes. Conrad is smiling at him, blocking out the sun as he leaned over him. “Where’s your mind, Ben?” He asks, lying back against the picnic blanket again.

“I think you mean, ‘what are you thinking about’.” Q corrects, laughing as he sits up. The movement pulls at his back, and he gives an involuntary cry of pain.

“Are you alright?” Conrad asks. Q waves him away, sighing.

“It’s nothing. Just some old bones creaking.” He says, straightening his back and resting his hands on the crest of the mound that was his baby belly.

Conrad frowns, looking more and more like a kicked puppy by the second. “We should have brought pillows. You would have been more comfortable with them.”

“I was leaning against a rock, Conrad. And besides, I hardly think that Nana would be happy if we dirtied her pillows.” Q replied, taking a sandwich from the spread and biting into it.

Conrad grins, stealing the sandwich away.

When Q had woken up, he had found himself in an unfamiliar room, staring at the faces of strangers. Instinctively, he reached for the gun under his pillow, heart dropping when he couldn’t find it. Gus, Conrad’s father, explained in halting English that they meant no harm, placating him to finishing his gruel and convincing him that it was not poisoned.

Conrad had arrived later that day, coming home from University and suddenly finding himself the translator between the rest of the village and Q. It amused him. He’d assured them that he spoke German, but no one was having any of it. As such, Conrad was always called upon to mediate any and all conversations.

From what he could tell, Gus had found him in the back of his lorry, pale and bloodied. Conrad had told him that his father had initially thought he was dead, until he cautiously shook him and Q had moaned one word; James.

Q did not know what to make of it. Choosing instead to push it to the recesses of his mind. They’d brought him to the village, letting the local medicine woman treat him. He’d been unconscious for three days before he woke.

“What about my baby?” He’d asked, the first thing he’d said. “Is my baby alright?” He watches the faces of the people in the room shift from worry to confusion. Frustrated and anxious, he mimicked rocking a child in his arms and pointing to his still distended stomach. Only then, did Gus nod and told him that the baby was safe.

Conrad’s shoulder against his brought him back to the present. The man was a year younger than he was. He looked like his father would have looked in his youth; light grey eyes, strong handsome features, dark brown hair that curled around his nape. Conrad was definitely taller than Q.

“A penny for your thoughts.” He says, grinning as he looked up at Q from the blanket and his book.

Q smiled, “It’s a beautiful day isn’t it?” His hand gently strokes his belly. He’s getting bigger now at 6 months. He catches Conrad looking at where his hands are, and he has to turn away.

The villagers have been more than accommodating of this stranger in their community. These days, he teaches the children English; something he thought he’d never do. They do not pry, and are always polite and patient when it came to him, though Q could see the questions in their every look. And the way Conrad looks at him lately…

Q wonders if he would’ve been able to love him, had his heart not already belong to another.

He itches constantly for a computer, the need to access information. Sometimes, alone with his thoughts at night, missing a warm body next to his, he wonders if MI6 has labelled him ‘Missing, Presumed Dead’. He is more than a little curious about it.

Winter still clings to the landscape like a lingering touch. It is quiet up here, and Q finds that he doesn’t miss the hustle and bustle of city life as much as he thought he would. Conrad has offered to send any messages to anyone he might want to contact. Q has debated calling, or even sending a note to Liam to tell him that he is alive. But then he remembers the jagged white line on his shoulder, and he thinks twice. Q hopes that Liam would forgive him someday. If he were still alive.

Conrad packs their picnic as Q gets up on his feet, enjoying the view. He’d told them that his name was Ben. He didn’t mean to lie, but it was better in the long run. Q planned that he would leave this place after the baby is born. He had not meant to stay in one place, knowing the dangers and risks he was putting everyone in, but long journeys in his condition was rather unthinkable.

As they walk back to Conrad’s home, Q lets him place one hand on the small of his back. Wishing that it were the hand of someone else.

A convoy of black cars greet them in the village square, men in dark suits milling about. Half the village residents were out, watching the newcomers with a wary eye. Q was about to make a run for it, when he sees a familiar figure standing by the fountain.

“Liam!” He cries, rushing forward and into his brother’s embrace. “Liam… I’m sorry…”

“Shut up. Shut up you idiot and just let me hold you.” He can feel a damp spot forming on his shoulder. “You idiot! I was so worried!”

“I’m sorry…” He whispers against his brother’s chest, feeling a rush of relief, happiness, _safe_.

Liam pulls back, wiping away the tears on his face. “It’s alright now.” He smiles. Q sees the tired lines around Liam’s eyes, feeling a pang of regret that he had not let his brother know that he was alive sooner. “There is someone I think you should meet.”

Liam moves aside, and Q’s heart leapt to his throat. The man steps forward, eyes still the same winter blue he remembers. He looks older, solemn. He has his hands at his side, and it takes everything for Q not to run towards him.

James Bond smiles softly, “Hello Q.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Yay~! James is here! So what's going to happen next? Let me know what you thought about this chapter. Like it? Hate it? I wanna know.


	11. The sun after rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Can I kiss you?” He hears whispered. He nods, pulling back, closing his eyes._

The atmosphere in the car… was awkward. James takes the wheel, eyes focused on the road, while Liam occupies the passenger seat, chattering away. Conrad and Q take the backseat, the other man casting Bond wary, suspicious looks as Liam’s chatter begins to quickly become erratic and off tangent.

“How are you?” Q asks, just to stop Liam from explaining how he had gotten out of a hairy situation in Greece about a year ago that involved an Englishman in a suit and a rabbit. “Have you been well, 007?”

He catches the look Liam throws at Bond, and frowns. “I have been fine, thank you.” Comes the reply. Q cannot see Bond’s reflection, but catches the slight thinning of Liam’s lips, as if he knew something.

Conrad shifts closer to him, and it makes his skin crawl for reasons he did not know. To be honest, he does not even know why Conrad had wanted to follow. A flash of blue is what he sees in the reflection of the mirror. Bond’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. All of a sudden, all Q wanted was to be alone.

“We’re here.” The car drives into the compound of a mansion, parking by the stairs.

Bond leads the way, nodding to the various staff members Q remembers seeing around MI6. The mansion is a heavy bustle of people and activity, which only heightens Q’s curiosity as to what was he here for. As they walk pass one of the open doors, “Boss!” He turns and is greeted with the members of his team. They all rush forward from their workstations in one of grand ballrooms and take turns hugging him, and exclaiming how much he’d been missed and marvelling at the sight of his bump.

“Enough now. The Quartermaster needs to be briefed.” Bond gently says from the foot of the stairs. Richard nudges him forward a little, smiling. Q steps onto the first step, ascending with Bond close at his heels. He looks back at him, feeling a twist in his heart and wishing that he could see some emotion on his face. Conrad makes to follow, but Liam holds out a hand to stop him. “Come now, Q. M is waiting.”

He is shown into a wide office space. The first thing he notices is the wide open windows framing the beautiful forest and lake beyond. “It’s a beautiful view, don’t you think?” M says, as Q turns to him. The man has not changed in the time he had not seen him; thinning hair slicked back, sharp eyes watching him like a hawk. There are members of staff all around, bent over a laptop or tablet, talking hurriedly into their phones, huddling around maps. It feels like the War Office.

“Hello Q. You look well.” He moves closer, hands in his pockets. “I suppose you would want to know why you’re here, then.” He looked mournful for a moment, “Would we have time for dinner?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.” Moneypenny smiles as she steps forward. Q notices that her feet are bare, bright green nail polish a startling contrast against the blue gold of the carpet and the warmth of her skin. She hands M two files. “Holmes is on line two, sir.” He nods.

“Show them to their rooms. You two, be back here at 7. Bond.” M raises his eyebrows, walking back to his desk.

“This way please, gentlemen.” Moneypenny ushers them through a side door, which opens to another staff clustered room, taking a left turn into a corridor. Bond seemed to know where he was going. Q wondered if that was a bad thing. “You could’ve told me, you know?” She whispered, hand on his arm, slowing down his steps. “I would not have told a soul.”

“I’m sorry.” Q says, meaning it. They have never been close, but they were friends. He pauses, trying to find the words. “How… How has he been?”

Moneypenny, bless her, did not even try to misunderstand. “To be honest, when you left London, it only took us a little over 2 hours to find out where you were, and where you were going. We had been shadowing you since you arrived in Paris.” Then she grins apologetically. “Sorry.”

“And when he heard that we’d found you… He demanded to be put on the team.”

“Wait… You mean. All this time he knew where I was? That for three months, Bond was somewhere nearby?” Q chokes.

“You don’t expect to be the Quartermaster of MI6 and not have a certain level of security and importance, Q.” She quirks her brow, “You’re wondering why he didn’t approach you.”

Q refrains from rolling his eyes, but cannot hide his hand clutching at the front of his coat.

“Q, you are a brilliant, brilliant man. But sometimes you are so very blind to the things around you.” She says, pulling his arm, turning them down a corner. “This is your room. The rest are all occupied so there can’t be any room change, I’m afraid. I’ll come fetch you around 5, alright?” She winked and closed the door.

“Uh.” Q squeaks, turning around. Bond stands by the bed with one hand on the buttons of his shirt, clearly in the middle of undressing. “Sorry. Moneypenny must have brought you to the wrong room.” He looks at where Q’s hands were on his belly, looking up at his face and then averting his eyes. The tips of his ears were bright red. ‘Interesting,’ Q thought.

Bond redresses himself, keeping his back against Q. “I’ll… I’ll find another place to sleep tonight. You can take this room.” He says, opening the closet and taking out a few clothes. “It is very comfortable here, so you should be alright.”

“Stay.”

Bond pauses in his movements. Blinking, not quite believing his ears. “I mean… I’d really like it if you stayed. With me. In this room.” Q blinks, mentally head slapping himself. God, he was so embarrassing sometimes! “We need to talk, James.” He lets slip like a sigh.

The man freezes like a deer caught in headlights, but he schools his expressions and nods once.

Q feels like someone had decided to leave a knife in his chest and twisted on the bloody thing.  He doesn’t delude himself into thinking that he had nothing to do with this version of James. True, it had always been there simmering under the surface, but it had never been constantly on show before. Q has always hated it; this side of him that was blank and emotionless, without empathy.

He shrugs his coat off, draping it over a coat hook behind the door. Carefully, as if he were approaching a spooked (and very dangerous, potentially lethal, killer beast) animal, he sits down on the bed, toeing off his shoes and socks. He scoots up on the bed, arranging and rearranging the pillows to his satisfaction. Bond stands at the foot of the bed, clutching a shirt in front of him.

Q bites his bottom lip, tracking the way Bond is looking at him. “Would you… Would you like to touch it?” This startles Bond, and he alternates between want, fear and apprehension. Q takes a deep breath, holding out a hand. He is surprised when Bond takes it, but merely smiles. He pulls Bond until the man is on the bed, placing his hand on the crest of his belly. “You’re not going to hurt me, James.” He says.

Bond eyes turn sad, hands gently mapping the distension, “But I already have. That last time in your flat.”

“It was just as much my fault as it was yours. I should have thought it through, leaving like I did…”

“I’d already known before then. That you were pregnant, I mean.” Blue eyes bright, Bond looked earnest. “I wanted you to tell me yourself. About the baby,” He presses a quick kiss, as if afraid at any moment, this would all fade. “I wanted to hear it from you. I knew you kept it from me for a reason, and I’ve thought of every single situation that could have happened. You didn’t trust me, you didn’t want the baby anywhere near me, you didn’t… He whispers. “I only made things worse by walking out when you told me.”

Q covers Bond’s hands with his own, stroking the skin between finger and thumb. “You were close by all these months. Why didn’t you come for me?” He asks. Q felt the solemnity of the moment, the sacredness that every word will hold. “Did you really not want us?”

“No!” Bond sits back up, taking his hands, holding tightly, shaking his head. “No… You’ve been what I wanted for so long. Even before all of this, I’ve wanted you and this,” He hovers his hand, unsure if he were allowed. “I’ve thought about nothing but the two of you ever since you left. I—It’s just…”

Bond closes his eyes, looking pained.

“I didn’t come because I thought you wouldn’t want me to.” Bond leans down, laying his head lightly on Q’s belly. “You looked happy. The entire time you were with those people, you looked happy. And I didn’t want my coming to take away your smile.”

He squawks indignantly a moment later when Q cuffs him over the head. He is about to lash out angrily, when he catches the wet sheen of unshed tears in his eyes.

“You’re an idiot, James.” Q huffs, pushing himself up and wrapping his arms around Bond’s torso. “How could you ever think that I would stop smiling because you decided to come back into my life?” He swallows back a sob, feeling James wrap his arms around him. “I’ve always wanted you too.” He says against James’ chest.

“We’ve been total idiots haven’t we?”

“Yeah.” He laughs wetly. They both still have a whole list of insecurities that will need working through, and he is not blinded by the happiness he feels to think otherwise. But for now, he is content to stay this way; pressed close to James.

Q feels James burrowing his nose into his hair, breathing deep. “Can I kiss you?” He hears whispered. He nods, pulling back, closing his eyes.

When James’ lips met his, Q thinks that this must be what being whole meant. It was chaste and brief, and nothing like the kisses of their previous encounters. But it was _perfect_ , because now Q was listening to what James had been saying all along. James smiles, pressing their brows together, hands warm on his cheeks. “You know that I am never letting you go now, right?”

He grins, “I was rather hoping you won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most nerve-wrecking chapter I have ever written. *shaking*


	12. Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond shows his alpha male side, and Q is distinctly not amused.

7 o’clock comes too soon. As the twilight sun began to cast its last light, Q reluctantly separates himself from James, and sees the similar emotion reflected in his eyes. Unable to resist and knowing now that he could, that he was _allowed_ , he leans in for a kiss, feeling giddy with happiness when it is reciprocated.

“Oh.” Q breaks away suddenly, eyes wide. He looks back up to see a line of worry etched on James’ brow. “Here. Feel this.” He takes his hand, placing in on his belly.

A kick.

Q smiles when James gasped. “Is that…?”

“Yes. It seems our baby is happy to see you too.” James leans down and presses butterfly kisses, running his hand reverently over the mound.

“Hello, little one. It’s so very nice to finally meet you.” Q runs his fingers through short blond hair. He wonders if the texture that he feels would have been different had it been longer. “Thank you.” James whispers heartfelt. Q does not ask what for, merely smiling softly in reply.

“I’m glad you’re both still alive and not at each other’s throats.”

They jump. Moneypenny stands at the door looking bemused. “I’ll give you two minutes to freshen up. M is waiting.” She quirks a brow, closing the door they had not heard open behind her.

There is a significant reduction in the number of people in the hallways, occupying the workstations in the vast, grand rooms. Q wonders who used to live here. From what little he has seen, it is a beautiful home; carefully maintained, intricately restored. And then he remembers who is occupying the space now, and thinks twice about wanting to know the answer.

M doesn’t wait for them to sit, before placing two dossiers in front of them. “Those men who tried to kidnap you in Berlin three months ago,” He stuffs his hands into his pockets. “It has taken us awhile, but we’ve linked them to one of Silva’s old sub-sections.” Q instinctively wraps his arms around himself, starting slightly when he feels James’ hand on his upper arm. There is worry in his blue eyes, but when Q slips one hand into his, James relaxes, before settling back into the bland and bored look he always wore.

“Why did they want me in the first place?” Q asks, looking away.

M sighs, sitting down in the chair opposite theirs. “From what we could pick out from the sparse chatter, they need you to decode something Silva left them.” He pulls out a grainy black and white photograph of what seemed to be a small black cube with the number 7 illuminated on one face. “Unfortunately, we do not have a clue as to what it may be. The best guess we have is that it is a carrier box of some sort.”

“If it is dangerous, it will need immediate containment. If it is not, we will destroy it nonetheless because if Silva had had touched this before we did? You can bet that there’ll be trouble.”

M’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but he says nothing of it. “We need you to infiltrate their system. Q-branch has had a peek into their security, both cyber and physical. The best chance we’ll ever have getting in will be tomorrow at dawn.” He looks into Q’s hazel eyes. “We need you to do it on site.”

“No.”

James growls from next to him. “No. He is not going to do this. No, he is not going to take it. He’s—No.” He finishes, glaring venomously.

Q frowns, suddenly feeling annoyed. He shuffles away from James on the couch. “I don’t think you should be making decisions for me, _double­-oh_.” He says coldly. Bond looks pained. “This happens to be my life, and I do not appreciate how you’re trying to control my every move!”

“Then what about the baby? This isn’t _just_ your life. It’s…” He trails off. Q purses his lips, hands tightening on the front of his shirt.

“You weren’t all that invested in its’ survival before, why are you starting now?” Q sneers. Instantly, he wishes he could take it back. Bond looked… hurt and sad. Q hated that he was the one who put it there. The deadpan mask was back like a switch and James stood, leaving the room.

Q made to follow him, but Moneypenny had a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head when he looks at her. “I didn’t mean it.” He whispers, feeling as if the world he’d just built, crumbling around him. “I know…”

“Yes. We know, Q.” M says quietly. “Both of you have issues that you have yet to resolve, and I know I’m going to sound terrible saying this to you. But you need to remember that underneath that veneer, underneath all that arrogance and control, Bond is only human.” M pauses, “He tried to protect you, both of you in Berlin.”

“Berlin?”

“Yes. He was there. He led a team that shadowed you and your brother the entire time. Bond made sure that you were safe, making contingency plans and escape routes. How did you think Liam got by that flat?” M smiles, “The reason why he had told you to stay indoors until you were ready to leave Berlin, was because your entire floor and the apartment below was stationed with assets. Bond was never far from you.”

Q stares at him, wide-eyed. “I do not know whether to feel touched or extremely disturbed by that.”

“You don’t become a Quartermaster for the MI6 and not expect a little over protectiveness from your superiors, Q. When you left the flat unexpectedly, we had two of our own tail you. They reported back that you were only going out for some food, and that you were on your way back.” M tilts his head, pensive. “Not two minutes later, they called it in that you have just been intercepted. That they have lost visual on you and Bond… Bond went. They managed to secure one of the men, but the other two were still after you.” He pauses, “Do you know how he found you?”

Q shook his head, finding it hard to breathe. “Bond followed your blood.” He stands, eyes looking at the files on the table. “His mission reports are all in those files. From the time we lost you in Berlin, to the moment someone reported your presence in the village, and then the reports from when he watched you from afar. They are all there.”

He reached out a hand, placing it on top of the non-descript cover. “So he was there? Even then, the entire time I was away, he was there?”

“He was your shadow.”

Q looked towards the door that James had left through. It would have been better had he had slammed it. Q felt sick to the core.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry about the lapse in updates. I have not been well, so I hope that everyone who reads this is in better health than I am.
> 
> On another note, I find that I am in need of a beta. I write in a frenzy and often forget my language at the door. 
> 
> If anyone wants to drop me a personal note/message/random thing that you had in your mind and you thought I would find interesting, come and find me on Tumblr. I am there more often than not, and I would love to hear from you
> 
> randomingoftherandomness.tumblr.com/ask


	13. Not Giving In

M dismisses him with a small smile, telling him to give his answer in the morning.

Q hurries back to their room, heart thudding at the sight of the empty room and empty bed, wanting with every fibre in him to just be back in the safety of James’ arms. He wants nothing more than to be back in the bubble of the afternoon sun on their skin, James a warm, solid presence beside him as they just relaxed into being just _them_.

In truth, he felt guilty.

Q knew he was wrong, that he should not have had said those words. They were unfair. James had made it clear that he _had_ wanted the child; that he was just as excited and just as equally nervous to be a parent as he. Q goes down the grand stairs, hoping that he would find James somewhere. He needs to apologise before this thing between them festers and grows into something he cannot fix.

“Ben!”

Conrad jogs to the foot of the stairs from the front door. “Con. I thought you’d left.”

The taller man shrugs, “I was going to. One of the men is going up to the weather station and he has offered to drop me off along the way.” He takes a hesitant step closer, “Are you alright?”

Q blinks, looking away. “I’m fine. I just need some air.” Plastering a smile on his face, he leads them both out through doors leading them to the moonlit garden. The grass was wet, each dew drop glistening like a million diamonds in the silver light.

“Ben? Please tell me the truth.” Conrad says after awhile, “Who are you? The real you… Is your name even Ben?”

Q closes his eyes, breathing in deep. He had expected this. “No. Ben was my father’s middle name, and I truly am sorry, but that is all I can tell you.”

“Next question.” He hears being said from next to him, “Is that man the father of your baby? The blonde one who looks angry all the time. The one who brought us here. Are you getting back with him?”

Q frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose and chooses his words carefully. “He is. We were never together in the first place. So, I’m not sure… It’s all a little confusing.” He bites down on his lip to stop the frustration he feels from showing through. “I may have messed things up between the two of us really bad this time.”

They stand there, basking in the moonlight, feeling the chill in the air. “Do you… Do you love him?”

The question causes Q to startle. He places a hand on his belly, saying softly, “I honestly haven’t thought about that in a long time.”

Conrad’s hand is warm on his arm, “Do you?” He asks, breath misting in the air.

Q looks into his eyes, wishing that this was the man who held his heart in his hands. “Yes.” He whispers. Conrad’s grey eyes turned sad. Q felt his gut twist in guilt. He hated this. Just how many people could he hurt in one day?

Strong arms pull him into an embrace, and Q lets himself drown in the scent of woods and rain that had become familiar to him over the past months. He wraps his arms around Conrad’s waist holding him close. He’ll miss him.

“Take care of yourself.” Conrad says, pressing his lips against the side of Q’s head. “If he is the one that makes you truly happy then hold on to him. And don’t ever let go.”

“I’m sorry, Con. I really am.”

Conrad tightens his arms around him. “Don’t ever be sorry for loving someone, my friend.”

“I’ve found him.” They jump and turn to see an agent standing at the open doors. “Proceed to stage 2.” The man grins. This was not one of MI6’s agents. Instantly, Q feels his heart drop.

“Get away Con!” He shouts, pushing his friend aside when he sees the gun being raised. Q feels a sharp sting at his neck, gasping when his body begins to lock up. He tries to fight the hands that have suddenly begun to hold him tight. ‘Must look into fortifying security.’ He thinks, willing his voice to work, to shout for help. His captors slip a hood over his head, turning the world pitch black darkness. They bind his hands, carrying him, making him nauseous with the movement. A hard surface met his back, and he hears the sound of a car being started.

“Target is secured. We’re moving out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this being this short... And also for what's happening to Q. Will it be better if I just promise that Q will be fine?
> 
> //runs and hides


	14. The Choices We Make

_“I’m coming for you. Wait for me. I’m coming for you both.”_

“Bond?” He whispers, blinking. There is nothing but darkness; heavy, oppressive, choking. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

_“Wait for me. Hang in there.”_

“Okay.” Q nods sluggishly, a thread of worry spreading from his abdomen and creeping into his voice. “But hurry though, I--”

The hood covering his head is yanked away, bringing him back into the waking world like a jolt of electricity. Q takes a couple of deep breaths, letting whatever basic training he had received upon joining MI6 to kick into gear.

Two men guards the door about 15 feet away, he can count about 7 men in the room altogether. From what Q could glean, echoes told him that this place was cavernous, probably a warehouse. The boxes towering over him in great walls did not yield any information; all of their faces were blank. He also takes stock of himself; nothing seems to be broken, although his wrists seemed to be handcuffed behind him and there is a steady twinge of pain around his lower abdomen. For a moment, he panics because he cannot reach his bump; cannot assure himself of his child’s safety.

He seems to be the only hostage in sight, and it does nothing for his worry about Conrad.

“You are younger than what we had expected.”

Q whips his head around, trying to find the source of the voice. “I’ll take that as a compliment then.” He says, licking his dry lips. “Where are we?”

The man walks sedately into the light. He is tall, handsome with perfectly coiffed blonde hair. There was something about the way he carried himself that spoke of money and influence, of years spent in the hallowed halls of England’s finest schools. His blue eyes are dark and shaded, but Q knows to be wary of him.

He smiles, brushing away invisible lint on the lapel of his coat. “I apologise for the handcuffs and the drugs. They won’t harm your baby, but it’s all for security reasons, you understand of course. I am no fool, Quartermaster. I have no doubts that you have something on your persons that have withstood our searches and scans. I expect we will see your colleagues congregating on us like sharks scenting blood. In fact,” He tilts his head considering, “I think we have about half-an-hour or so before we have to pack up and move again.”

“You’re one of Silva’s old factions.” Q says, watching the man closely. “But you already know that I know. Don’t you, Lewis Morse?”

He merely shrugs; face never slipping from his genial mask. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Silva is dead and cold in an unmarked grave. Now, his dogs are run free.” He grins, wicked and sharp. “We are no longer bound by leash and chain.”

Q takes a deep breath. “Then let’s get to the point, shall we? You kidnapped me from a MI6 safe house instead of killing me. This tells me that you need me for something, so I would like to know what that may be.” He says, adding as an afterthought, “Please.”

The man blinks, momentarily taken aback. “You do not waste any time, do you?” He laughs. “Alright, then.” He snaps his fingers. One of his men steps forward and places a briefcase on the table. “Here’s what I want you to do,” He flicks the lock, turning the case to face Q. It takes every single ounce of his self-control to not show a single sign of recognition. “You are going to decipher this cube. You are going to tell me what darling Silva was trying to hide in it. You,” Lewis leans down, looking straight into Q’s eyes, “Are going to tell me what it means.”

The cube lay nestled in a bed of black foam. It hardly seemed sinister, but Q knew that if Silva had had his hands on this, it probably was rigged to explode at the touch of the right person.

“What if I don’t?” Q says with hands clenched into a fist. The twinges of pain was becoming deep throbs, becoming harder to ignore. Something was wrong and his first priority was to protect.

Lewis sighs. He motions for a gun and a mobile phone to be placed on the table. “If you don’t, you get to choose between your unborn baby, and its’ father.” He smiles, an unpleasant thing that makes Q’s skin crawl. He cannot hide the way he is shaking, the tremors of fear. “The fact that you’re pregnant is blatantly obvious, but did you honestly think we wouldn’t know about Bond? And him being the father of your child, my dear Quartermaster…” He tsks, “Pregnancy has clearly clouded your judgement. You need to choose your doctors more carefully.”

“If you _touch him--_ ” Q hisses eyes cold and hard.

“I don’t have to,” Lewis says, “If you do this.” He taps the cube, smiling.

Q stares into mocking blue eyes, searching for a trace of lies. “Let me go.” He says after awhile. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I quite fancy thinking Lewis to look like Laurence Fox. 
> 
> You can check him up [Here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laurence_Fox)
> 
> There's a reason I called him Lewis Morse. A big fat cookie for those who figured it out.
> 
> If you need an idea on how the cube looks like, and if you are a Doctor Who fan and remembered that episode the Doctor came to stay with the Ponds, then yeah.
> 
> So what's next? What's that cube? What sinister plot lies this? 
> 
> You're going to have to stay tuned, now have you?


	15. To Love A Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for the delay. A combination of my muses refusing to co-operate and me falling ill (again) is leaving me drawn out. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter.

Q grips the edges of the car seat. “Why are you doing this?” He asks. “You’re not motivated by money or power here. This is something personal.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The fact that I am still in one piece. Not that I am not glad for that, mind you. I am. But it is a tell that everything isn’t as it seems.”

Lewis throws him a short glance from the side of his eye, before tuning back to concentrate on the road. They have just left the warehouse. Lewis saw no reason to keep him under lock and key, and so here he is unbound and unchained in the car driven by his captor with the silver case containing the cube in the backseat.

To be honest, Q would’ve preferred being blindfolded. Because then, he could focus his attentions elsewhere.

“I wanted to see for myself what this boy wonder could do.” Lewis says softly, but Q could hear an under current of emotion hidden behind his words. “He had spent a considerable amount of resources trying to find a way to best you.”

“I’m hardly a genius.” He says after awhile. “Silva penetrated MI6’s security even with all my pre-emptive measures and firewalls. I hate to say it, but I think he is the genius here.” Q says, feeling the words like ash in his mouth.

The blonde man scoffs, changing gears. “Silva is anything, but that. He _knew_ all the protocols, he imagined and understood every move you and your people would make before you even thought about them.” He smiles, sharp and cold. “He was a paranoid bastard, fucked up in the head. He was a shadow of a man obsessed with a singular goal. If he had a soul, if he had any to begin with, it had long since been consumed by insanity and his raw need for revenge.”

Q watches the tick of Lewis’ jaw, the way his eyes harden and his knuckles pale where they grip at the steering, and understands. “You were in love with him.” He says softly, the words coming out in a soft realisation rather than a question.

Lewis blinks once, the mask on his face slipping for one moment before it slides into place as firmly as before. He is silent, taking a right turn into an unmarked road. Q breathes deeply. “Is it so strange to hear?” Q hears said after awhile. “That a monster could still be loved by another?”

“No.” He replies shortly. “No, I don’t think so.” And he really doesn’t. It isn’t a surprise that someone, something so broken and seemingly beyond repair could still be loved and cherished like the most precious thing in the world. If Lewis is surprised by his answer, he doesn’t show it. “How did you come by the cube?” He says just to fill the pause.

“Silva left it to me.” He replies, voice bellying no emotion other than the undercurrent of amusement. “I found it on my doorstep the day he died. He must’ve… arranged it somehow. He’d told me about it once, when we were still lovers. He said that it was storage of some sort.”

“Why do you want to open it so badly? Shouldn’t these things, things he left behind without any instruction, be just left alone?” Q ventures. “It could be dangerous.”

They drive on in the silence. Q presses his hand on his clothed stomach, stroking gently.

Lewis swings the car to a stop on the side of the road. Q stifles the shriek in his throat. The two cars in front pull to a halt. The car behind them moves up next to theirs. One of Lewis’ men steps out, just as he leaves the car. Q hears tense, muffled voices speaking hurriedly, making no sense of the topic at hand. He contemplates an escape plan, but quickly discards it when he realises that there would be no way he could run in the state he was in.  

“Sorry about that.” Lewis says, slipping back into his seat.

“I’m not sure I want to know.” Q quips.

It brings a grin to Lewis’ lips. He starts the car, sliding into his previous position in the convoy. Q watches the dark outlines of trees and the faint bright dots in the sky pass him by. “You said that it could be dangerous. Opening the cube? It’s a risk I have to take. I can’t go on another day—I can’t live with the idea that he could have left a last message for me and I never made… I couldn’t. I can’t.” Q does not look his way when he says this. “We were over a long time ago. Long before the death of your M. Long before he executed that attack against MI6. But I never stopped thinking about him. As crazy as it may seem.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Q whispers. “To have them with you in your heart and mind, when they are so far away.”

Lewis is silent. Eventually he promises, “I _will_ let you go. And I will make sure that no harm comes to you, or your baby. Help me with this, and I will make sure you return to him safely. I am many things, quartermaster, but I never break my promises. Believe me.”

He wants to. There would be nothing more in the world he would want than the certainty of his baby’s safety. “I have an idea about the cube.” Q says quietly.

“And? What about it?”

Q contemplates how to phrase his answer, “I think no one can open it. That we won’t ever know what it does or what it is for.”

“And that’s your professional take on it?”

“It’s my _initial_ take, seeing that I couldn’t find anything on the surface that would lead me to believe that it was something functional.” Q paused. “Have you… Ever thought that could be a hoax? That it could’ve been something he left behind to rile you up?”

Lewis’ eyes are hard. “It could be. But until that hour comes when it is true, please do your best to unravel it.”

Q is frowning, with words on the tip of his tongue when the car behind them explodes into a towering ball of fire and metal.


	16. We All Wear Masks

Lewis steps on the accelerator, pushing the car past the front line. Q closes his eyes and digs his fingers into the soft leather of the seats. Apparently the rescue team has arrived. Q douses the little flame of hope sputtering in his heart that Bond might be there.

He hears Lewis responding to the voice in his earpiece, hears the strained notes of worry in his voice. “…should’ve had another hour! How did they find… Just shake them off long enough for us to disappear, understand?” The man lets out a frustrated cry, slamming a hand on the steering wheel.

The next wave of pain takes Q’s breath away; shattering all pretences and making him bend over, gasping. He swallows down on the scream clawing out of him. Q isn’t aware that Lewis has pulled over to the side of the road, until he feels a strong hand gripping his upper arm. He looks up into blue, blue yes (not _his_ , his mind supplies) and a deep frown. 

“How long have you been having contractions?” Lewis asks voice deep and calm. His grip is tight like a vice, and it makes Q squirm, trying to turn away.

“Ever since… Ever since the warehouse.” Q says quietly, still feeling the final starbursts of pain. He curls a hand at the front of his shirt. It is getting worse and he is running out of time. He has expected that his baby would be coming out sooner rather than later, but… Q had not expected to be going into labour. Not for another week! “You… You gave me your word that you would let us go if I could open the cube.” 

“And I mean it. I’ll keep you safe and bring you back to him.”

Q closes his eyes, breathing deep. ‘I must be mad… To be considering this.’ He can feel the onset of the next wave coming on, the tightening feel of his lower abdomen, the sudden loss of air in his lungs.

“Then make me another promise.” Q says “Promise me that whatever happens, if it means you need to cut this baby out of me yourself, you’ll do it. And you’ll bring my baby back to him.” Lewis hesitates. Q grabs his arm, hissing tightly as a flare of pain bloomed sharp and bright. “Give me your word!"

“You know you have it.” Is Lewis’ only answer. Q takes deep shuddering breaths before steeling himself and gesturing for the briefcase.

“You’ll need to drive into the woods. I assume you have a built in computer somewhere I can work with? Yes?” Lewis touches the glove box and a sleek touch screen monitor slides out, displaying all its’ functions. ‘Nice.’ Q thinks grudgingly, unwilling to let the other man see his momentary admiration. “Good. Now drive! I can keep my friends at bay, but not for long.”

“Do your job and I’ll do mine.” Lewis says evenly as he pulls out of their stationary position, screeching as he accelerates into a meadow and towards the line of trees.  
Q takes the cube and attaches electro pads to the unblemished surface, attaching the wires to the console. A diagnosis instantly runs, bringing up multiple windows of analysis. “I can’t find anything that would dispute my initial assessment. Unless…” Q pauses, fingers a blur on the touch pad.

A wash of bright light floods the car. “Looks like your friends found us!” Lewis swerves into a more heavily wooded area. “If you don’t mind, quartermaster?” He grits out, dodging a low hanging branch.

Q sends a silent apology to whoever is listening as he types in a slew of codes that turns off the lights and throws them into darkness. “There’ll be a bridge 700 metres ahead. We can use it to get to the other side of the river. I’ll make us invisible.”

Lewis does as he is told, throwing a wave of leaves into the air when he drives onto the bridge. “I can see why you’re the voice in the earpiece--” He begins to say when he slams the brakes, throwing Q forward, the seat belt breaking the motion. Q opens his mouth to speak when he sees Lewis’s expression illuminated by the lightening sky. He stares stonily ahead, mouth pursed into an impossibly thin line. Q looks up to see what is it that has him looking that way, and has to hold back the cry in his throat.

Bond stands in the middle of the bridge, the light of the headlights highlighting the vapours of his breath. He has a gun pointed straight at Lewis. This is 007 and Q is drowning in the river of mix emotions seeing him brings.

“Get out of the car Q!” Bond calls, taking two steps closer. “Q!”

“Lewis, I made you a promise.” Q says softly, his eyes not leaving Bond’s approaching form. 

“But it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? He’s here now. He came for you.” Lewis answers in the quiet of the car. “That should mean something, quartermaster.” The sound of the river rushing below them thunders loud. He reaches over to touch the cube. “In the end, you’re still so cruel.” His lips twist into a bitter smile. He closes his hand around it, a decision seemingly made. 

Lewis takes out his gun, “Get out of the car.” He empties magazine, throwing it under the seat of the car. “Get out!”

Q releases his seatbelt, scrambling out. “Lewis! Whatever it is you’re trying to do, don’t!” He pleads, staring back and forth between Bond and Lewis, who climbs out of the car with grim grace. Lewis points his gun at him, eyes turning hard and cold.

“James! No!” Q screams.

“You’re the man who killed Silva.” Lewis says, smiling. The mask is back in place, tightly secured with no traces of the man Q has had a glimpse of. “I suppose you could call this revenge for everything you have taken away from me.” Lewis levels his aim at Q’s stomach, the wind whipping around them. “Which one will it be? The unborn child? Or the father?” He moves towards Q, lips curled back into a sneer. 

“You’re insane.” Bond spits, face contorting into a scowl of fury.

Lewis smirks, turning to face him. “Is it madness? Is it? Be honest with yourself, 007. You’re just as lost as I am. Aren’t you? A man who takes life for a living doesn’t sound very sane to me.”

“Let them go.” Bond says.

Lewis merely smiles wider. “Your quartermaster is in labour. Did you know?” He laughs, bright and loud. Q watches Bond’s eyes flick to him and then back to Lewis. “If I shoot him, I wonder if you’ll have time to cut your own child out. Would you like to find out?”  
“Lewis, please stop this. Please.” Q pleads, gasping. He wraps protective arms around himself, as he doubles over. “Whatever it is… I can help you!”

For a moment, Lewis falters, taking a step towards Q when Bond fires.

All Q could see was the bright red bloom of blood against the front of his shirt. Bond is at his side in an instant, moulding his body against his. Q sags against him, wanting to speak, but feeling the words falter when they reach his mouth.

Lewis staggers backwards, dropping the gun. The sky begins to lighten, casting molten gold sun rays over the top of the trees. Q watches Lewis stumble backwards until he reaches the railings. He watches as Lewis’ lips curve into another smile. The mask is gone, and this is a smile that was both sad and relieved.

“You kept your promise, quartermaster.” Lewis says, bringing the cube to his lips. “Now let me keep mine!” He spreads his arms wide, leaning further backwards until he goes over.

“Lewis!” Q shouts desperately, reaching out for him. 

“We need to get you to a hospital.” Bond’s voice is warm like a blanket. The agent has an arm around him, pulling him away. “Q!”

Q sobs, clutching at Bond’s arm. “James…” He breathes. “James. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…” He slides a hand to his cheek, cupping it gently. “If you have to choose, choose her. Always her.” He whispers as the exhaustion takes over and he sags into the safety of Bond’s arms.

He feels the press of lips on his forehead. “I’ll take care of you now. Trust me.”


End file.
